i'm going to show you love in every language
by queenforbes
Summary: stiles / lydia: "Stiles Stilinski, you let go of me and I swear to you," Lydia says breathlessly as the wind whips and roars around them, "I will come back to haunt you." / Or the time when Stiles is the only one holding Lydia up—literally.


**A/N:** I'm pretty proud of this one. Also, I think it's _not_ the time for Stydia to get together. PLEASE DON'T HURT ME I'LL EXPLAIN.

I mean, it feels like Lydia's got a bit of growing to do and she's got to still figure out her banshee mojo before jumping into any relationship. And Stiles—well, he's waited since the third grade, right? He can do a bit more—no, I'm joking. I may not still like Malia that much because she's mean but I think it's good for him to get into a relationship. And he's grown since the last couple of seasons as well. He no longer idolises Lydia like before but talks to her and argues with her, like an equal. It'll be good for him to branch out. Even if Malia's mean—I still hope I'll end up liking her. But it seems like Lydia's realising what she's missing though—oh, don't tell me I was the only one who saw that look Stiles gave her in the Jeep!

Enjoy!

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**i'm going to show you love in every language**

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_"Behind every great man is a woman rolling her eyes."_

**Jim Carrey**

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"Stiles Stilinski, you let go of me and I swear to you," Lydia says breathlessly as the wind whips and roars around them, "I will come back to _haunt_ you."

"Lydia Martin," Stiles replies, "if I let go of you, I'm following you down."

She pauses to smile up at him, amidst all the madness. Then remembers that she's dangling on the edge of a haggard cliff with the wild winds howling through her hair and tightens her grip on Stiles's fingers. His chest is to the ground and it's uncomfortable but all he can really think about is holding her hands. Apprehensive, Stiles swallows because their faces are so close—he could probably reach out and kiss her if, you know, they weren't in imminent danger of falling to their deaths.

"What did Scott say?"

"He says we're both the biggest idiots he's ever seen and it's a long drive," Stiles relays as he rolls his eyes. "So I guess we'd better get comfortable."

Lydia snorts. Stiles tries to suppress the urge to do a victory dance—it'd be very unwise, given their current situation, but it _was_ one of the few times Lydia had ever laughed at his jokes. So he settles for a mental high-five, instead.

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"I don't know about you," Stiles says after a while. "But I think this is the last time I ever go mountain-ash collecting."

Eyes flickering with humour, Lydia replies, "Oh, trust me—next time, we leave it _all_ to Deaton, deal?"

"Yup—he's now the official Mountain-Ash Collector."

"With his imaginary badge of mountain-ash collecting."

They look at each other and suddenly burst into laughter.

You complete and utter adorable dorks.

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When the morning sun peeks over Stiles's Jeep and flashes tantalisingly over the two, Lydia decides now's a good time as any. Stiles's arms are aching and she's horribly sweaty and they've got hours until Scott gets to the mountains to save them. You might as well kill some time.

Wetting her lips, Lydia takes a breath. "Stiles—,"

Stiles breathes an unspoken plea:_ please let her be making me a heartfelt confession of her undying love for me—_

"I, uh, just want to say thanks," she confesses.

Stiles blinks. Screw it—he'll take what he can get.

"Nobody would actually do this for me—,"

A frown pushes at his forehead. "What are you talking about?"

"Would you let me spill my guts to you, Stilinski?" Lydia snaps.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Ugh," Lydia sighs. "See, that's what I'm talking about. I'm _mean_. Why are you even here? You should be dropping me because I'm such a bitch to you—actually, if you drop me, I'm making good on my promise to haunt your ass."

Beginning to laugh, Stiles adjusts himself a little and the sudden movement makes Lydia scream. "Lydia!" He shakes his head a little to get rid of the ringing. "Wow, your lungs are—_wow_. No wonder you're a banshee—I can't believe we didn't figure it out sooner. I'm not going to drop you, okay? Don't worry. And you're not a bitch."

Even teetering dangerously on the side of a cliff, Lydia manages to give him her patented _are you kidding me; this is bitch-face to the max_-face. "Really?" Her tone is laced with heavy sarcasm.

"Fine, you're mean. Happy?" Stiles allows. "But you really think I'd be in love with you for so long if you were as mean as you think you are? Because you're not, okay?"

"But nobody else would be doing this for me!" She's actually in tears now. "Ever since I went all psycho-naked-running-girl, everyone, apart from you guys, have been deserting me. I bet if I was in this position with anyone other than you, Scott or Allison—I'd be dead."

Stiles falters and his voice softens. "Hey, Lydia—,"

"Look." Staring at him, Lydia swallows, eyes still tearful. "All I want to say is … I'm grateful, okay? Without you—without you _all_, I'd still be that brainless bitch who thought faking stupidity and being popular was the only thing that really mattered. So … _thanks_."

"You're welcome," Stiles replies. He suddenly grins and continues, "I know, I know—you owe your entire life to me. Not only that—you owe _everything_ to me—,"

"Oh, shut up, Stiles," Lydia says but she's smiling. "Okay." The wind picks up; a quick, summer breeze making her curls bounce as Lydia sniffs. "I spilt my guts—your turn."

"What?"

"You heard me, Stiles—I'm not going to be the only one feeling vulnerable and crap, okay? Now spill."

"But—,"

"I won't tell a soul."

"Fine," he sighs. "You know how we're a—a pack now?"

She nods.

"I sometimes—feel a little … _useless_."

She frowns. "Wha—,"

"Lydia, you didn't let _me_ interrupt." Stiles tilts his head at her and she promises to shut up. "Look, it's—petty and stupid, yeah, but Scott and Derek and Isaac are werewolves. Allison's this brunette version of Buffy the Werewolf Hunter and you're a banshee. And I'm just—plain human. I don't actually do anything for anyone—I try researching stuff but it doesn't come to anything because come on, who trusts the Internet anymore and—,"

"Stiles—Stiles, hey, _hey_." Lydia's stumbling over her words because she recognises how panicked he's looking, how insecure he's feeling. "You're an idiot."

He snorts. "Thanks."

"But you're not useless and anybody who says that will be on the receiving end of my wrath." Lydia watches him hide a smile. "You do more for this pack than anybody, you got it? You're smarter than everyone because your research _works_, damn it, and you always—_always_ have a plan."

"Some of my plans fail—,"

"I'm not done with my speech, yet," Lydia interrupts. "And your plans do not fail. Do you know how many times I've seen you charge headlong into some dangerous werewolf or—or psychopath or whatever without caring about your own safety?" _and how I've held my breath, whispering I'd be devastated too_, "You're still an idiot but you're not a useless one. You're Stiles Stilinski and," _I think I'm in love with you_, "you're just getting way too many compliments from me, now, aren't you? Stop grinning, you dork."

"I thought I was an idiot," Stiles says but there's a fresh lightness in his chest that certainly wasn't there before.

"You're both."

You don't know what you'd do without her, do you?

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"I don't get it," Lydia says when it's midday. "Why do you like me?"

Stiles cocks his head and tries not to wince at his stiff arms. "Is that a trick question?"

"Stiles—I think I'm slipping, _Stiles_!" Her eyes are filled with terror and Stiles sets his jaw before curling his rough fingers with her slim ones. Both of their palms are sweaty and there's real fear curling in the both of them as Lydia swings in the slight breeze dangerously.

"No, it's okay—you're okay." He nods to her and they both let out a collected breath of relief, as Stiles clutches her hands tighter. "I've got you."

"Thank you," Lydia breathes. "Oh, God, Stiles—_thank_ you."

A smile slips into his lips as Stiles replies, "You were asking why I liked you?"

"You know, you don't have to answer—,"

"Do you remember when we went to that field trip in the woods?"

"Stiles, that was in third grade—,"

"No interrupting. That's the rule, right?" Stiles says before continuing, "Anyway, Scott and I picked all these berries. We had so many we could hardly carry them." His eyes twinkle at her. "You came up to us and you told us they weren't good for us. I think your exact words were, 'Dumbasses, you can't eat those'."

She has a sheepish smile perched on her lips.

Stiles grins straight back at her. "I listened to you—but Scott didn't. Which was why he ended up sick and throwing up like crazy the next day. And from that day on, I was _infatuated_."

"Because I called you a dumbass?"

"Because you were clever and beautiful and I love the way you stand up for whatever you think is right and the way your nose wrinkles up when you're thinking deeply and the way you're always up to do anything to help and you're the only one who is on the same wavelength as me—I can keep going forever, Lydia."

A sudden lump in her throat, Lydia blinks away the tears as she shakes her head mutely, strawberry-gold curls bouncing around her face freely. "Please don't."

You don't know what you'd do without him, do you?

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His stomach grumbles a couple of hours after the sun has reached its peak and Stiles groans. "I didn't have breakfast—I got too excited researching mountain ash." He pauses. "That has got to be one of the dorkiest things ever said."

Lydia laughs. "When we're out of here, I'm eating my bodyweight in ice cream," she tells him. "I think I'm traumatised—and the only cure is ice cream."

"I always thought it was pie—key lime pie, to be exact," Stiles replies. "There's something in the mixture that's just not from this world, you know?"

Shaking her head, Lydia says just as seriously, "Nope—it's ice cream. Ice cream has long been known to hold magical properties."

They chuckle quietly.

"Hey—do you remember that time when someone took out all the screws in Coach's office?" Lydia muses for a minute and laughs. "That was funny—Coach was so angry I swear he had smoke coming out of his ears."

"That was me," Stiles grins and she gapes at him before laughing harder.

"I should've known." Lydia looks at him interestedly. "What else have you done?"

"Well." Stiles puffs himself up. "Where to begin? There's just so many—there was that time when I dumped itching powder in Jackson's kit, or when I had everyone thinking Scott was deaf and made people yell at him for a day. He really _was_ deaf by the end of it…"

Laughter escapes from Lydia's lips and she offers, "I once convinced everyone that Da Vinci was making a comeback."

Stiles guffaws. "I remember that—I couldn't believe how stupid some people were." He looks at her, a playful glimmer in her eyes. "I once stole Scott's favourite things and stuffed them all in the school vending machine."

Tilting her head, Lydia returns, "I pasted Post-Its all over Jackson's Porsche."

"I put my dad's car in the living room for one day, took it out that night and pretended I didn't know a thing."

"I made a fake head and put it in the fridge."

"I convinced everyone I was going to the moon for three days!" Stiles says with vigour and Lydia looks at him incredulously before they both burst into laughter.

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When the sun's just dipping down in a sky tainted with purples, pinks and reds, casting a honey-gold light over them all, Scott is driving up to the Jeep. His eyes roam the mountains to find a figure sprawled on the ground, legs rising, and shakes his head.

"Scott only dumped Allison because he was afraid she'd be in danger from him!"

"Wrong—_Allison_ dumped Scott and she can take care of herself!"

"From a werewolf with heightened senses and super-speedy reflexes?"

"She's a werewolf hunter who's been trained extensively to deal with these kind of things!"

Narrowing his eyes, Scott parks his mom's car next to the Jeep that has stood there innocently for the day and gets out. "Are you guys actually arguing about the breakup between Allison and me?"

There's a pause and then a simultaneous, _"No!" _with Stiles's jokey tone and Lydia's light tone tangling together in a guilt-infested singsong.

"Scotty—are you going to interrogate us or save our asses?" Stiles demands, quickly changing the subject as Lydia mutters, "_Still_ can't believe we drove all night to get mountain ash only to almost die."

Scott moves to Stiles's side, careful not to nudge him, and sizes up the situation with a thoughtful edge to his mouth. "Okay," he says quietly, "I'm going to run across really fast, grab you Lydia and hopefully, run us back up to the ground."

"Scott," Stiles interrupts.

"Scott," Lydia interrupts.

"That's a really _crap_ plan."

Their voices, once again, twist together as they both look visibly worried.

Scott shrugs optimistically. "It's the only one we've got," he says and Lydia's opening her mouth to say something more and Stiles is going to comment as well but these two have done enough talking, Scott thinks and throws himself at Lydia.

Banshee screaming ringing in his ears, Scott groans, clutching at Lydia before running them both towards the cliff face and throwing themselves back up. Stiles gets up, looking exhausted, arms numb as Lydia finds herself on the ground again. She rips herself out of Scott's arms and throws herself into Stiles's outstretched arms.

"You're welcome. Guys? …Guys, I saved your lives. Stiles? Lydia?"

Scott's comments float away on the breeze.

Inhaling her familiar scent of fresh honeysuckle, Stiles tightens his arms around her and Lydia grabs him, revelling in the wondrous feeling of being properly held for once. They ignore Scott as he gives up trying to get a grateful "thanks" out of the two and glances around curiously.

"Uh, Stiles?"

"Yeah?"

"You do realise you could've swung Lydia to the side—there's this ledge of stairs at the side she could've climbed up on…"

Pulling away, Stiles and Lydia glance at each other, blinking. Scott guffaws.

"For two such smart people, you guys are really dumb."

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**fin**


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